Hell, by any other name...

As we approach that Rockwellian summer holiday celebrating the birth of our great nation a tiny island that once loomed large in the never-ending war to keep Americans free has popped up in the news again.

Japan reinstituted the name Iwo To, as it was originally called before Japanese officers mistakenly called it Iwo Jima. Either way, the almost 7,000 marines who died there in some of the most Hellish fighting of the war are still dead (as are the almost 21,000 Japanese defenders.)

US military personnel are currently searching the island for the remains of Sgt. Bill Genaust a marine cameraman who also captured that iconic (second) flag raising on Mount Suribachi and like almost half the men involved in either flag raising, failed to survive the battle.

Unlike civilian AP photographer Joe Rosenthal, who snapped the famous still photo, Genaust was a marine who also carried a rifle. And when things got tough he chose the rifle over the movie camera. Days after the Mount Suribachi triumph, with the battle still in doubt, he used his camera light to help fellow marines peer into a cave. He was killed and his body never recovered. The cave forgotten…until now.

And Charles Lindberg (not the aviator) died Sunday. He was one of the marines who helped raise the first flag on Mount Suribachi.

Although smaller than the more famous second raising it was nevertheless visible enough to marines hunkered down on the beach and navy ships off shore to set off a cacophony of celebratory cheers, whistles and horns--until the enemy counterattacked.

The men may have perished back then or just now, but their spirit lives on forever. Semper Fi.

Going down with the ship.

Okay, back from international intrigue to the mundane. Just to demonstrate how selfless our DPW is, they filled potholes all over town last week but didn’t get the one in the middle of their own access road (that I share).

July 1’st, the start of the new fiscal year, is almost here. It also marks the Town Manager’s one-year employment anniversary. Guess I can’t call him a “rookie” anymore.

How soon we forget

So did you read the paper today—hardcopy or Internet? Notice anything missing? I usually scan 3 or 4 per day, and today--only 96 hours post mortem--not a mention of the catastrophic South Carolina inferno that snuffed out the lives of nine firefighters.

Hard to believe just seven-and-a-half years ago the media for days and days on end covered the stunning tragedy of Worcester’s “building from Hell” where a half-dozen firefighters paid the ultimate price for simply doing their job.

I was in the control room of Springfield’s Ch. 40 TV as they covered live the funeral ceremony with Senator Kennedy orating better than I have ever heard him speak.

Dave Madson, forever anchor and as good as they come...lost it. He choked up, his voice cracked. Reminiscent of Walter Cronkite, the “most trusted man in America,” gulping as he announced live to millions of anxious Americans that President Kennedy is dead.

Of course it has everything to do with 9/11, where we lost 343 firefighters. And that’s the #1 problem with terrorism. To get the media’s undivided long-term attention they have to break a record, to do the unthinkable, to bring about devastation so catastrophic we can’t even compare it to previous tragic events.

On that awful, awful morning I declared to my long-time business partner that this day, 9/11, would be most historical day of our life. And now, five and half years later, every night I pray that prediction holds.
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UPDATE: (one hour after original post):

Yes folks, that first comment (exactly 15 minutes after initial upload) originated from Ankara, Turkey. And he used the Blogger search to find me, so he probably punched in "9/11".

UPDATE #2 (Saturday morning). Well at least the Springfield Republican had a Front Page story today about the fire and the Daily Hampshire Gazette as well, although not as prominently located. No further word from my philosopher friend in the Mid East.

UPDATE #3 (later Saturday morning). DUH! All I had to do was click on his comment and it lead me to his blogger web page. Note video of "assassin America".
http://davutkurkut.blogspot.com/

UPDATE #4 (Sunday morning). I was not the only blogger Mr. Kurkut visited and left behind his Koran calling card. I noticed a comment on his most recent blog post in Turkey from a Canadian blogger, so I also left one. I'll see your scripture and raise you Shakespeare.

Amherst TM Sopranos Finish

Hey if Hillary Clinton can cash in on popular culture (and we know what a hip lady she is), so can I.





But seriously—and it was hard to take Mr. O’Connor and his “Dark Sky” initiative seriously—at least Town Meeting pulled the plug on this article that would have slapped businesses with $100 per day fines for shedding light after hours.

The Select Board tried to compromise and have the article referred back to the Town Manager but (off duty) Prosecutor Rich Morse pointed out our $125,000 a year Town Manager does not have unlimited time; after all, he has a golf course to revive and he doesn’t work on Bunker Hill Day.

Mr. O’Connor also had his ‘kill the Amherst Redevelopment Authority’ article dismissed by an overwhelming vote. I’m not keeping score, but I don’t think Vince has had a single success this Town Meeting.

The scary thing about Dark Sky is that, in this overly enlightened town, it’s the kind of weirdness that could easily pass. And then what’s next, a fine for driving SUV’s?

In China when the temperature is under 45 degrees and you walk the streets with your newly adopted daughter, it seems no matter how warm you dress her old women will come up and suggest with hand signals that she could use another layer.

Well intentioned for sure. But when government starts acting like overly concerned grandmothers…

The Squeaky Wheel (or broken front axle)

So after the Town Manager told the Select board on May 31’st that the potholes would simply have to wait until July 1 (start of the new fiscal year) because of budget constraints and even after Finance Committee Vice Chair Brian Morton reaffirmed that travesty to Town Meeting last week, suddenly, mysteriously the potholes on Hulst Road—after Taxpayers for Responsible Change Chair Stan Gawle declared it the worst road in Amherst—are filled.

A particularly irate resident of that neglected street called DPW chief Guilford Mooring and suggested the neglect could be political (as in payback for the Override failure). He again heard profuse apologies and was assured that it was not political, and it was strictly one of those routine budget things. A few hours later Mr. Mooring called the resident back and said the potholes would be done on Monday.









UPDATE:

I sent the following message out over the Town Meeting listserve (about 100 subscribers):

So either the DPW found some money in the sofa or little elves came out of the woods one night to make Hulst Road recognizable as a road. About time!

Select Man Kusner responded within minutes:

In a message dated 6/20/07 10:17:35 AM, robkusner@gmail.com writes:

You're welcome....

UPDATE#2 (2:00 pm) Terry Franklin gets funny line of the day award:

“… or little elves came out of the woods”

robkusner@gmail.com writes:
You're welcome....

From: Terry Franklin
Rob, I always did figure you for an elf.

UPDATE #3 (2:15 pm) The Gazette is paying attention:
June 20, 2007
South Amherst potholes filled after numerous complaints from residents
Posted At : 12:50 PM | Posted By : newsroom
Related Categories: Amherst, News
AMHERST - Town officials have responded to complaints voiced in the Gazette last week about potholes in South Amherst.

Public Works crews were on Hulst Road, South East Street and Station Road on Monday and Tuesday filling in the holes in the pavement with asphalt, said Superintendent Guilford Mooring. He said last week there was no money in the budget for the work.

"There was some money left in the capital accounts that we thought was all spent," he said. "It showed up when we were ready to close the books for the (fiscal) year."

He encouraged residents to call 259-3050 to report potholes.

"Hopefully, we'll get all caught up and get back to the routine of doing potholes when they're called in," Mooring said.

--NICK GRABBE

Read more about the pothole situation in Friday's Gazette and on gazettenet.com and amherstbulletin.com.

Why is this man smiling?

After a vigorous day mountain biking 20 of the 27 mile Acadia Park Loop Road and climbing a smaller mountain as a warm-up for Mount Cadillac, we drove to the scenic wonder known as “Thunder Hole” a cave-like crater bored into the side of a massive rock wall by the pounding of ocean waves.

And when the tide is just right, the combination of waves bouncing out of the large fissure combined with an incoming wave create a loud BOOM, like far off thunder.

Since it was almost 5:00 pm I figured it past business hours, so I pulled over at convenient parking spot reserved for tour buses located immediately behind ones reserved for handicapped parking.

A white mini-van with Virginia license plates pulls in front of me and parks in one of the three handicapped spots. Three precocious boys ages 4 to 8 tumble out of the car and the driver gets out almost as quickly.

He’s dressed like Washington bureaucrat on vacation and I think, “Yeah, you’re probably connected, so you can park anywhere.”

He bounds to the back of the van and pops the hatch like he’s done it a thousand times before, and drags out a wheelchair. Then he hustles to the sliding door, bear hugs his young daughter who looks to be twice as old as Kira, my 5-year-old (that I carry around less and less these days) and easily twice her weight.

Donna and Kira had sprinted ahead, so I hurried down the stone stairs to catch up. The next time I saw them, they too had descended the 100 granite steps to get out close to the churning waves. I then realized there was no elevator or chair assist. He had carried her the entire way, and they were holding each other as the waves performed.

Infrequently, a particularly strong incoming wave erupted into a geyser that splashed spectators--draped like laundry--over the iron fence. He had been smiling the entire time. As most folks shrieked at the sudden unexpected drenching, for the first time, safe in the arms of her dad, she smiled.

(Last night Amherst Town Meeting approved, with little comment, $80,000 to make the East Street School handicapped accessible.)

A view from the top

So Kira, my five-year old daughter, had two milestones on our brief getaway to Bar Harbor: She lost her first tooth and climbed her first mountain…fortunately the two were not interconnected.

Mount Cadillac rises 1,532 feet,the tallest mountain on Mt. Desert Island, home to Acadia National Park. About half the height of Mt. Greylock or a quarter of Mt Washington it is nevertheless challenging enough so that the majority of folks you encounter at the top got there by automobile.

Before starting out we assisted two women with horses move a cart around a locked gate on the carriage road by dragging and lifting the cart up a grassy incline and over a small boulder or two.

Kira and Donna were so enthralled with the horses that my wife forgot to pack water for our climb, and we didn’t notice until we had hiked for perhaps 15 minutes. Knowing water was available on the summit we decided to keep going, strait up.

The weather was virtually perfect on this late morning with the sun shining brightly in a cloudless sky, 72 degrees and low humidity.

But after about 45 minutes of steady climbing with sweat dripping freely from our brows I started to question in my own mind the decision not to return to the car for water. About then we came upon a small group of teens--three boys and three girls—sitting clustered comfortable in a shady area under a small pine tree.

One of them dropped a half-full water bottle and it rolled quickly down a rock outcropping and then cascaded out of sight. Just a stark reminder to pay close attention as we continued upward.

Kira never complained, even though she occasionally had to scamper on all fours when things got really steep. Donna or I would hold her hand for extended periods and on occasion I would give her a boost up to a safe perch with Donna then pulling from above.

As we neared the top a couple coming down marveled at Kira having made it that far. I said, “we’re bribing her with the hotel swimming pool” .

We made steady progress and arrived at the summit in about one hour and thirty-five minutes, heading strait for the cold water. On the way down we again encountered the half-dozen teenagers still heading towards the top. And way down near the bottom of the mountain, we found the bottle of water they had lost.